The wretched business of marriage
by PaperPrince
Summary: A series of unfortunate events leave Sherlock unbonded at the age of 25, at least it does until Mycroft meets with a certain doctor... Omegaverse and Soulmates AU!
1. Chapter 1

At 25 years old Sherlock Holmes was old for an unmarried Omega. That he remained a bachelor despite being handsome, fiendishly cleaver and from both good breeding and great wealth was largely due lady fortune and a difficult temperament.

Unlike other well to do Omegas Sherlock had not debuted into society at the tender age of 17 owing to unfortunate circumstance, namely the sudden and devastating death of his mother two weeks before his debutant ball. His mother's death hit the family significantly hard resulting in them entering a deep state of mourning for a period of several years.

A good son would probably have concerned himself with his aged father's welfare during this time. Sherlock however devoted himself to his studies. It is during this period that Sherlock does what few Omegas manage to accomplish and finishes his education without a proverbial bun in the oven.

The formal mourning period while long eventually ends when Sherlock is 19 and shortly after a ball is arranged in his honour. All the local eligible bachelors of standing are invited as expected. Sherlock does not attend this ball however, as a few days before hand he accidentally upturns his small rowing boat while collecting water samples from the lake and falls into the shallow icy water. Being a strong swimmer he manages to make it back to shore safely, however by the time he returns to the main house he's caught hypothermia and a serious chest infection. More importantly his experiment is completely ruined. It takes him months to fully recover and even longer for his father to let him explore the grounds unattended.

Unable to delay debuting forever Sherlock finally gives in to his older brother Mycroft's demands and attends his aunt the countess of Cork's summer ball at the age of 21. He is unsurprisingly one of the oldest Omegas there.

He makes it through one dismal dance with a hideously rich passive aggressive beta with internalized misogyny and a serious victim complex called Sebastian who is nearly twice his age and who treads on his toes until Sherlock succumbs to food poisoning caused by bad shellfish and throws up on Sebastian's shoes. His father takes him home before he can cause any significant embarrassment yet strangely enough Sherlock is never pressed upon to attend another ball throughout the season, though his brothers Mycroft and Sherrinford attend them quite regularly on the lookout for an Omega of their own.

Shortly before his birthday and the start of yet another season, Sherlock's father suggests he come with him on his book tour across Europe. Sherlock accepts, glad for an excuse to miss the season and delay himself becoming bound to some brute of an Alpha or arrogant Beta looking only for meek and fertile Omega to bear them an Amanda of children.

The trip itself is wonderful and together they tour some of the finest museums and art galleries across Europe. Sherlock of course soaks up the culture like cats do sunshine on a warm day.

The only blight on their otherwise enjoyable trip is Sherlock's zealous suitors who flock to him despite his best efforts to dissuade and evade them, for as much as he is loath to marry the thought of living on some foreign shore is unbearable. Thankfully his father shares his sentiments and turns down each and every one of his son's foreign suitors and so despite the efforts of the majority of Europe and a particularly feisty American by the name of Miss Adler Sherlock returns to England single.

Winter changes to spring and Sherrinford acquires a mate called Victor. Sherlock and he take to each other quite well, being the only Omegas in the household.

Or at least they do until Victor starts to swell with child after child and glow with such blatant happiness that the entire village are either jealous of his brother's good fortune or Victor's abundant fertility. Sherlock refuses to assist with the children as much as possible and retreats further into his laboratory claiming children to be a bore and a waste of his time.

In reality he is slightly envious, himself unable to be with his beloved Johnny. As much as everyone believes love to be a mystery to Sherlock they are wrong for he understands all too well having lost his heart to a young soldier in his youth. Johnny is secretly the reason he is loath to marry anyone, for he is Sherlock's soul bonded not that anyone besides his Johnny is aware of this.

Johnny fair and short had spent almost an entire month as a guest at the Holmes's large estate with his professor Mike Stamford a friend of his father's when Sherlock was merely a boy of 15. Mycroft had been away at university and Sherrinford busy working in London so it had been just the two of them taking walks in the orchards and reading in the library. Johnny, though slightly older treated him like an equal in all sense of the word and a gentleman throughout their association (unlike Miss Adler who had tried to trick him into showing her his mark and attempted to copulate with him while he was in a drugged state).

Johnny had thought him brilliant and together they discussed almost everything, from chemistry to astrology. Johnny's kind smile and warm heart had made him terribly easy for Sherlock to fall in love with. That Johnny had turned out to be the one to match his soul mark was amazingly wonderful. What was not wonderful was the hopelessness of their relationship.

With Johnny being from neither from a distinguished family nor particularly wealthy any sort of match had been impossible at the time of their first meeting, given his mother's ambitious desire to use Sherlock as a way of climbing the social ladder. With a heavy heart Sherlock had said goodbye and watched Johnny go off to fight a war knowing he was unlikely to ever return.

At 25 Sherlock sole comfort is the knowledge that his father has not the need nor want to marry him off and is instead perfectly content to have Sherlock remain at his side as his chess opponent and main source of entertainment (father was particularly fond of violin performances even when they were impromptu and given at three in the morning).

The day Mycroft returns from London and informs father he has found Sherlock a husband is a very distressing day indeed.

By the time Sherlock finds out about it of course there is nothing to be done, for his father has already met the man who was to be Sherlock's captor and signed the required paperwork.

Despite this Sherlock tries to reason with his usually sensible papa. His father having been brain washed by his swine of a brother simply tells him not to worry and that it is a wonderful match and that his intended was a wonderful man who had saved his brother life.

The brief surge of joy Sherlock feels upon learning his brother owes someone a debt of gratitude in exchange for saving his life and rescuing him from an alleged assassination attempt is quickly quashed upon realising that he has been used as a means of absolving this debt.

Sherlock decides then and there that he hated his husband to be, one Dr Watson. There was no way he could like a man who had assisted his arch enemy after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft Holmes was fortunate indeed that Dr Watson of 221B Baker Street had chanced upon him bleeding to death in a dingy alleyway while on his evening walk for the route he took that night was not his usual one. It was only due to some road works he had deviated from his usual routine and taken a diversion that had led him to Mycroft.

That his Good Samaritan was a doctor and an excellent one at that was perhaps the better part of his luck for his injuries such as they were would have undoubtedly have raised suspicions had he been taken to a hospital to be treated. Gunshot wounds were after all rarely a common complaint of minor government officials like himself. He was thankful therefore to be taken back to the good doctor's lodgings to be treated.

Having been patched up and given a shot of brandy for medical purposes Mycroft finds himself lying on an incredibly comfortable sofa under the scrutiny of a clever man. Not brilliant like himself but clever all the same.

"I don't want to know what happened do I?" the good doctor asks taking a sip brandy himself as he settles by the fire.

"I think not Doctor Watson" He replies.

Watson looks at him mildly surprised.

"I did not think we had time for pleasantries beforehand so how did you know my name? I think I would recall having met you before."

Mycroft nods. "Indeed we haven't. Most people do not react calmly to the sight of blood yet you did, suggesting to me you were used to such sights and therefore of a medical profession, the name on the door outside simply confirmed my suspicions."

"I had thought you far too out of it to have noticed the name plate outside."

"I did not notice, I merely observed." Mycroft replies examining the lodgings of his saviour and mentally calculating his fee. His words seem to affect the doctor as he chokes and splutters, his drink going down the wrong way. Mycroft shoots him a look.

"Are you all right?"

"Quite well in fact." Says the doctor his lie made evident by the hint of sadness in his tone. Evidently Mycroft has said the wrong thing somehow. Mycroft decides not to press him though.

He glances at the clock. "Is there someone I should contact for you Mr?"

"Mycroft Holmes and no, my mate is currently abroad visiting relatives."

The glass falls from Watson's hand and smashes on the floor. Watson blushes and goes to fetch a broom.

"You've heard of me?" Asks Mycroft somewhat surprised at his reaction.

"No, your family."

"Ah I suppose you are a fan of my father's many literary works. I could arrange for the two of you to meet if you want."

"It's hardly necessary." He replies clearing up the mess he has made.

"Something else then?"

Watson looks at him his face worn and tired for a man not quite yet thirty. He licks his dry lips and sighs.

"You don't need to do anything for me."

"You saved my life, which puts me in your debt. I will do anything in my power to repay you. Anything at all, just name your desire."

"I have no desires."

Mycroft snorts at him.

"Please, I can read you like a book. You have dedicated yourself to the treatment of the sick having trained to become a doctor while still in the army. You hold yourself like a soldier, no an army captain. Your knowledge of bullets comes from having seen war. You yourself were shot in the shoulder. Your injury forced you to retire. You find yourself constantly bored so assist the police when they ask for your help.

The name Watson is not a well-known one suggesting you have earned your fortune rather than inherited it. You've a small practice of your own in a good part of London suggesting you earn a good income from your doctoring.

You are unmarried but are not looking for a mate or matrimony judging by the state of your apartment and the lack of a wedding ring even though you can now afford to do so. You are equally uninterested in casual affairs judging by the lack of dusting and general mess for if you entertained you would clean.

You wear a locket around your neck yet keep it hidden beneath your shirt. The locket is expensive and though well-kept old. It is the sort of locket that people put photographs in yet the clasp suggests it has not been opened often suggesting that it contains a lock of their hair instead.

Few men wear such things suggesting it was given out of love and that you wear it for sentimental reasons, that you keep it hidden suggests that the relationship was forbidden probably due to a difference in class as that is a very expensive trinket. Most people would have gotten over such a loss by now, but you haven't which would suggest that the person was your soul mate and their mark matched your own.

Now tell me what you want."

Watson hesitates.

"A photograph."

"Of your Omega?"

"Yes."

Mycroft looks at the man in front of him who could ask for wealth, for fame, for anything or everything and who has asked for the merest trifle.

"You would be content with just one photograph?" He asks slightly amused at how little the doctor wants given that most would kill to hold such power over him.

"No." Watson admits avoiding his gaze.

"Then why ask for it? Why not ask to see him again?"

"Because ten years have passed and my hope is all but gone. My heart will not be able to bear it, if Sherlock is married to another."

It is fortunate that Mycroft has nothing in his hands to drop for he would have done so otherwise at the mention of his spinster brother's name.

"You are fortunate then that my brother is little better than a hermit." He says finding his tongue.

The joyful glow that spreads across Watson's face at his words is truly endearing. Realising this is his perfect chance to be rid of his bratty interfering brother Mycroft adds.

"If you really want him, he's yours."


	3. Chapter 3

John's heart stills in his chest at Mycroft's words. Surely he doesn't really mean to give him Sherlock just like that? Without confirming his story? Without ensuring their soul mark was indeed identical? And without asking Sherlock's opinion on the matter? Does he not know of the legal reforms that have been put in place to prevent this sort of thing from happening, to prevent Omegas being traded and ill-used? Of course he must, everyone did.

Assuming he is being made fool of his anger boils up inside him as his Alpha instincts take over.

"Do not joke with me Holmes!" he cries irately. "Sherlock's not yours to give away as you like."

Mycroft smiles looking very much like a shady red fox in the dim light.

"I apologise, I did not mean it the way it sounded. I only meant that the obstacles that prevented you from being with Sherlock in the past no longer apply. I'm sure Sherlock and my father would love you to visit. You can discuss matters further then." He says trying to calm John with his silver tongue not wanting to receive any more injuries that evening if at all possible.

Though still distrustful of the elder Holmes John contemplates his choices on the matter and agrees to his suggestion.

He catches an early train from Waterloo several days later wearing his best and only suit having had it neatly pressed and laundered by his housekeeper Mrs Hudson. Butterflies well up inside as the landscape slowly changes from the closely packed rows of tall buildings that flash by as the train bustles past, opening up into large swathes of bright green fields and John hurries ever closer back to the house that plagued his dreams and Sherlock the boy who haunted his heart.

Sitting in the parlour having tea with Sherlock's father is undoubtedly strange. John stares at the curtains wondering if he had merely forgotten the colour in his absence or if they had been replaced. Absorbed in his wonderings about how the years may have changed Sherlock for better or worse, John almost fails to notice the cup of tea Sherlock's father, Siger Holmes passes him.

Sipping the hot milky liquid John tries to hide his disappointment at Sherlock's absence. With an apologetic smile Siger explains that Sherlock is currently in one of his moods and refuses to attend before going on to say that he has long since given up on forcing Sherlock to be social before adding that it may easier to complete negotiations without him.

Exchanging a few more pleasantries as is custom they at last get down to business.

"Mycroft told me of the service you did him and that you wish to marry Sherlock," Siger says putting down his tea and getting straight to the crux of the matter.

John nods his mouth being occupied by cake.

"As valiant a service you rendered Mycroft I am not agreeing to this match because of that. As far as I'm concerned Mycroft is old enough to repay his own debts without bringing others into it. I was almost sure this was merely another one of his ploys to be rid of Sherlock until he let slip that you have the same mark as my youngest. It is for that reason I agreed to meet with you. Long lost lovers can be fabricated but soul marks cannot be.

Mycroft may think us pawns in his game all he wants but it is I who have the final say in what becomes of Sherlock. Mycroft is ambitious like his mother but to me Sherlock's happiness is more vital than establishing political connections.

Despite Sherlock's frosty exterior he's a gentle lad at heart. I have long been content to have him remain with me and live the remainder of his days as a bachelor free from the hardships marriage often brings to Omegas.

However I am old and not long for this world. According to my doctors I've only months left at best, and soon I will not be able to keep this from my sons any longer.

Given the time I have left Sherlock is my main concern.

I do not want Sherlock to be left alone once I am gone and can no longer protect him yet nor can I trust my eldest Mycroft not to marry him off to a wife beater or worse the next time Sherlock interferes with governmental plans.

If you truly share the same mark as Sherlock, if you are his soul mate then you have my blessing. I know the agony of being without your soul bonded, having lost my beloved wife Violet. That mark is all the proof I need to know the sincerity of your love for Sherlock. Show me your mark and I'll agree to the marriage."

John complies removing his jacket and shirt to reveal the small dark skull shape that marks the skin near his armpit just below the ugly gunshot wound on his left shoulder.

"Identical," he cries happily at the sight of John's soul mark.

"I had hoped it would be so!" he adds shaking John's hand eagerly with his own.

A wad of paperwork appears. Siger explains it's merely protocol and begins to go through the stringent conditions laid out in the documentation. John a committed member of the association for the fair treatment of Omegas agrees to them all without hesitation or disagreement and adds his signature besides Siger's own elegant scrawl.

The paperwork completed Siger heads to the library where the family waits with baited breath eager to hear the outcome of the meeting. John meanwhile heads to Sherlock's laboratory eager to see him again.

John stands outside Sherlock's laboratory a tray of tea things in his hands trying to balance it in his arms long enough to knock on the door. He's barely managed to knock once when Sherlock cries out angrily.

"Piss off Victor." Calls an indignant muffled voice through the thick door.

"It's not Victor." Replies John crushing the part of him that is half tempted to simply leave the tray outside the door and let Sherlock be. Having come so far from deep enduring hope to something so full of potential in so little time his patience seems to have left him leaving only his boldness behind.

He tries the handle only to find it locked.

"Piss off then husband!"

"Never!"

"Well I'm not coming out," yells Sherlock sounding strangely unhappy for someone who had begged to run away with him when he was not yet 16.

"Let me in so we can talk," he says somewhat confused by Sherlock's tone. Was Sherlock angry with him or something? Or had he simply waited too long and been forgotten?

"You promise not to bond me, without permission?" asks Sherlock hesitant to comply.

"I promise now let me in," cries John desperate to calm his Sherlock and sooth away whatever worries troubled him.

The door clicks open and he steps inside. He closes the door with his foot and stares at the angel in front of him. His hands cling determinedly to the handles of the tray as he breathes properly for the first time in years, inhaling the thick honey scent mixed with cigarette smoke and chemicals that was undeniably Sherlock.

Sherlock sits in front of his chemistry set, no longer a just a boy (though his face retains much of its youthful charm). In ten years he's grown from a flower just beginning to bud into a beguiling wild rose with sharp thorns. His high cheekbones and slender frame are even more beautiful than John's dreams recalled though his temperament seems much the same for Sherlock appears to be purposely ignoring him.

The tea spills slightly as he sets the tray down on the table. Wordlessly Sherlock hands him a handkerchief, his eyes still fixed on his growth cultures his face unreadable.

John stares, his eyes transfixed at the initials his mother had carefully sewn onto said handkerchief many years ago. That Sherlock had kept it after all this time was somewhat reassuring. Sherlock waves the cloth trying to attract John's attention, impatient to have it removed from his hand and unaware that had already captured John fully.

Sherlock sighs and looks up. His eyes widen in surprise somewhat unable to believe what, no who is in front of him. Sherlock stares at his Johnny, his eyes observing and committing every subtle change to memory should he fade away before him like a ghost.

"You've a moustache," he says dumbly, his brain overwhelmed by the alpha pheromones that have surreptitiously shut down all but the most basic functions of his brain hidden under the thick stink of chemicals which are permanently infused deep within the laboratory. Letting go of the Petri dish in his hand Sherlock lunges at him and smashes their lips together.

"John," he snarls desperately clinging to him.

"Sherlock," replies John just as enthusiastically wrapping his strong arms around Sherlock's slender frame.

Later when they break apart for longer than a few moments for air Sherlock will explain about the absurd number of Watsons in the world, his brother's delight in torturing him and the diminishing likelihood of him ever returning which had all contributed to his fears that he would spend his life bound to the wrong Watson.

But for now they've better things to do.

* * *

If anyone's interested I'm looking for someone to act as a sounding board for ideas, if interested message me :)


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